WINDS ARE NAMED FOR THE DIRECTION THEY ARE HEADING,
Off shore winds funnel down the mountain
four cities on fire are grazed; it
bottom-turns left through her Hannah Montana blanket,
kissing her seven-year-old head goodnight.
Always and never the officer--discharged, fired.
This new-to-me wind cliffs through my backpack,
the leaf of paper I pen on: “careless discharge of weapon”
Shearing a family rust-stained and winded: “causing death”
say Aiyana’s murderer
say she would have graduated from high school this year.
The offshore winds tear into the mourning,
lanterning streets, five stop signs ignored
say law less
say structural racism: “He's on vacation.”
The offshore winds skip over the broken people
toward the last break, where it slaps and slows water,
creates a well-formed wave
with a wall full meaty to carve through,
inflicting the perfect conditions.
Shareen K. Murayama lives in Honolulu, Hawaii. She has degrees in English, from the University of Hawaii, and in Creative Writing, from Oregon State University. Her art has been published in Crab Fat, Prometheus Dreaming, Inter|rupture, Toe Good, and Phoebe, You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @ambusypoeming.